OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
What train of thought was it that led the indefatigable Percy Fitzgerald to write, The Story of Bradshaw's Guide, which appears in one of the most striking wrappers that can be seen on a railway book-stall? How pleasant if we could obtain a real outside coat-pocket railway guide just this size. It is a pity that the Indefatigable and Percy-vering One did not apply to Mr. Punch for permission to reprint the page of Bradshaw which appeared in Mr. Punch's Bradshaw's Guide, marvellously illustrated by Bennett, many years ago. This magnum opus in parvo is really interesting and amusing, but if there is one thing more than another which he who runs and reads desiderates of an author writing of time-tables and guides, it is accuracy. Now, in one particular instance, our Percy is inaccurate. He writes: "Close on fifty years have passed by, and the guide with every year has continued, like Mr. Stiggins, to be a 'swellin' wisibly.'" The Brave Baron challenges Percy to mortal combat on this issue, defying him to prove that Mr. Stiggins was ever described within the limits of Pickwick, as "swellin' wisibly." Will the erudite biographer of Bradshaw be surprised to learn, that, in the first place, the description "swellin' wisibly" was never applied to Mr. Stiggins at all, but was used by Mr. Weller senior, as illustrating the condition of a "young 'ooman on the next form but two" from where he was sitting, who had "drank nine breakfast cups and a half, and," he goes on to whisper to Sam, "She's a swellin' wisibly before my wery eyes." In the second place, the expression was employed at a time when Mr. Stiggins was not present, but, in his official character, as "a deligate from the Dorking branch of our society, Brother Stiggins" was in attendance downstairs. With these two exceptions, one mistake of omission, and one of commission, the Baron confers his imprimatur on the Story of Bradshaw's Guide, and recommends it to the public.
For a first-rate, short, well-constructed, and sensationally interesting story, let me recommend my readers to The Peril of Richard Pardon. Only one possible objection do I see to it, and that is a matter of my own private opinion, which is, that Richard Pardon is the most irritating idiot ever created by an author. For the sake of the story, it was necessary that he should be weak; but he is such a very backboneless man, and yet quite strong enough to support the fabric of the plot. Then one is cleverly put off the scent by a certain Richard Mortlock, from whom the reader expects much more than ever comes out. The sequel of this capital novelette must be Richard Mortlock. I have quite forgotten to say that The Peril of Richard Pardon is by Mr. B. L. Farjeon, whom I have to thank for making time pass too rapidly on many a previous occasion. The Hour Before Dinner Series—not that this is the genuine title, but it might be, and is a suggestion—is a real "boon and a blessing" to those who, like Podgers, in John Hollingshead's immortal farce, "only have a 'our," not for "their dinner," but for their novel-reading throughout the day. Farjeon soit béni! (Signed) The Baron de Book-Worms.
AN EVENTFUL WEEK.
(From a Prophetic Journal of Events, looming possibly somewhere a-head.)
Monday.—London, having now been without coal for sixteen weeks, and people having kept their kitchen-fires alight by burning their banisters and bedroom furniture, several noted West-end houses undertake to deliver the arms and legs of drawing-room chairs ("best screened"), at £26 5s. a ton for cash.
Tuesday.—All the petroleum in the country having now been exhausted for heating purposes, and Piccadilly being, in consequence, illuminated by a night-light in one lamp-post in every three, a "Discontented Ratepayer" commences a correspondence in the Times, commenting on the matter in a severe temper.
Wednesday.—Several Colliery Owners, in despair, descend into their own mines for the purpose of trying to raise some coal themselves, but their employés, declining to assist in hauling them up again, they are left to their fate, and nothing more is heard of them.